


Often Enough

by dem horns (FingerstheZombie)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Chucklevoodoos, Emasculated Character, Fingering, Hypnotism, M/M, Minor Violence, Other, POV First Person, Sizeplay, Spoilers, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FingerstheZombie/pseuds/dem%20horns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurloz uses Kankri.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Often Enough

**Author's Note:**

> How do plot?  
> How is grub formed?

Merciful Messiahs does Kankri like to talk, sadly he doesn't listen to you, nor your vow of silence. So at times you have to make him quiet in your own ways. His mind is like an open book, or a doorway that you can pass in and out of without any worries and qualms. It takes the slightest of suggestions to make him follow you to a quiet corner of the dream.

The mutant sits down atop one of the many chests, with the way it's set up against someone's hive it acts like a nice bench. Kankri's got a sheen of sweat on his face and he stutters and mutters out what you want to hear from him, “It's n9t that I disrespect y9u Kurl9z.” your grin widens and you stifle any more silly words with your mouth. Kankri's disgust is palatable, he radiates it and you know that he's feeling the thick cords that keep your mouth shut rubbing against his lips and his tongue sneaks out to poke in between a set of them and try and press in.

That was more you than him because he hates himself for wanting you so badly and you pluck at the strings set in his heart in a soft sonata. The gloves are off, you slip forward and slump down so his tongue goes in with a faint pop because it's easier that way and you can feel the strings tense as the fat part of his tongue squeezes through and your breathing's picked up and your shins are pressing against the lid of the chest, one on either side of his legs. He's traversing dangerous territory, your teeth are sharp but you open them up so he can lick up against them and dip down towards where your tongue used to be so many sweeps ago. Hands start to slip under your shirt and you're already undoing the button to his dark jeans and zipping them down.

Kankri thinks he had gone up to you and asked for a fuck and he feels guilty and ashamed and he doesn't notice the way your eyes keep flickering because he's looking down, one hand up a side the other down against a hip and his nails are cut brutally short. His breath is fast and hot and to you he's boiling like the sun and burning bright in your mind, it leaves trails of heat in your skin and muscle, like someone's started to try and solder holes into your bones. You like the feeling that he might kill you somehow and some way and maybe every time he speaks his stupidity a little piece of everyone dies inside, so you offer this break from reality. Honestly who's going to believe Kankri if he ever brings it up, not that he will he's too shamed too prideful and his bulge is thick and slick and you squeeze him between your claws, smile rising high.

He's careful when he does start to touch you, your nook is open and wet and his fingers play in the slick and bring it forth around the spot where your bulge used to be. It's nothing more than a sensitive little sink above your long slit but it's good and when he fingers the old wound it's enough to make you shiver from head to toe and your hips buck forward and try to force him into it and it's dripping long rungs of indigo. He manages to make his thumb sink in and he's fingering with just one, then two and then three and it's fast, stops to gather more of the wetness or gather more from you before moving fast again and you like pain, like the way he's forcing your stitches wide like he wants you to speak but there's no tongue caged inside.

Your shoving your pants down before you know it. The holes that the thread runs through your lips burns and stings and you know he's torn several of them open and one side of your mouth is shut and held tight by the thread. If it wasn't for your face paint you'd be blushing a rather hot shade of indigo, Kankri's red in the face and nervous and he's sorry so sorry for everything he's done to make you mad or sad. He doesn't want to demean you he says and it's like he's vomiting words when he's not kissing you. And so you slip forward, kneeling and his bulge is out and bright red and he doesn't move an inch. Not while you are holding his wrist so tight it hurts and moving it away because while he might have some qualms his bulge doesn't with the way it curls up.

Soon as you're close it seems to sense the proximity and the long slippery appendage flicks out and shoves in and Kankri can't watch and he's covering his face, one hand over his mouth and you've got one at the bottom of his rib cage so you can feel him breath, feel his heat beat run under your hands. An appreciative noise escapes you and you can feel his bulge twitch and then give a good shove up into you as far as it can go and try and stretch. But really it's so much fun to tease that you let him do that, up and fuck and he's not in all the way he's squirming and holding back what noises he wants to make. He begs and pleads for you to just fuck him already and he's sobbing sweet red tears and you press your mouth to his before you simply sit on his bulge.

It's all in at once and you squeeze around the hot solid heat, it's somewhat like drinking down scalding hot coffee on a cold day and you make low noises into the kiss you've forced onto him. He's burning you alive and the pricks of pain make you hold onto him almost so hard it hurts and Kankri squeals and squirms and that's when you start to lift and then your ass is down onto his lap again and you can crush him, easy. Your pace is brutal, and you use your weight to pin him down tightly against the chest; this is your advantage. These things are what he already knows and why he never did want to do any of this and he's yours and so soft and warm, your claws sink in and there's indigo staining his pants and between your thighs and it's a good thing you tossed your own aside earlier, they can get in the way of so much fun.

He's trembling and breathing hard and you finally let up once he's soaked in indigo, enough to make it clear he's going to need to change pants after this. Both his hands are on your hips and his fingers are digging in because he's been trying to hold out for you. And you appreciate it because your heart's a faster chug than usual and there's a slow ringing in your ears, it takes a few seconds of listening to Kankri's heavy breathing to realize he's not done, not when you've strung him out and not let him move enough and he's ready to leave but you grab and try to pluck that thought out of his mind and bury the seed of an idea there. You're getting over the dazzlingly white brightness that had left you feeling like jelly and you slowly slip to one side before you slowly fall into a laying position and your nook feels warm and used and twitchy and tingly.

But you know there's more and you let him know he can't leave physically when you hook one leg around his waist and he gets it right. Kankri stands and gives a tug to either of your thighs and you scoot all the way towards the shorter side of the chest, your legs can reach over and touch the ground without any problem. You happen to be one tall motherfucker, Kankri lines his hips up with yours and then his bulge is a twisting maddening thing making a mess up against the entrance of your nook, all spiraling and then it's burrowing in deep and your genetic material slips out a bit with the reentry, but it's all good because it's tangling up with him and then he's up flush and it stops leaking out.

You make a keening noise in the back of your throat from that and he turns a deeper shade of red, you weren’t aware that it was possible. There's an excess of natural reproductive lubrication fluids all along the inside of your thighs and your groin, mostly indigo, but it's getting redder in the middle and when he fucks you it's quick short flurries but he's rhythmic and he pauses, starts and you know there's something not quite right with the way he does that. Kankri's a row of them before he's leaning forward enough that he's simply hugging you low and around your waist, poor little guy and you sit up just a bit so you can hug him to you and that's when you keep him close and one arm's hooked around his lower back, other grabbing tight at his ass, claws sinking in.

Sometimes you wish he was a bigger troll but you've grown used to making him want you so much it could turn him to ashes with the intensity that you can heat him. Everything's crystallizing and you turn a bit and then lean up against the hive wall after making a noise and crushing his hips against yours, the wiggling to achieve this is awkward and the way that he keeps coiling his bulge and twisting it inside of you makes you want to cream and fuck him at the same time and the heat's almost too much to keep and your warm and sweating, slick with your own genetics and you breath heavy and you want to tell him to keep fucking you hard but all you do is let out a trill and stop holding him and he's already obliging your every fucking whim. He's fast, and he slows before giving a heavy one at the end of each little string and you can feel him building up again from where he cooled down and there's indigo along him and his pants have slid down to his ankles along with his boxers.

Kankri's holding onto you, his hug's warm and he's still wearing that fucking blasphemous sweater and you want to rip him and it to shreds most of the time. But when he's busy making you into a puddle of indigo that's just fine and you sneak the hand that's not holding him to you between your bodies and then you start to pry and scratch at the worn and scarred remnants of your bulge. It's a crisscross starry flare from how often you sink your claws in and drag them out and your forcing fingers down and in but there's very little give and too much blood. It drips and pools along Kankri's bulge along with your genetic fluid and his bulge is moving in and out fast enough that he's nearly a blur of white hot heat in your eyes. His face is tucked up along your belly and ribs and your curled up enough that you feel as if you could rest your chin on his back.

You don't do that though, you pull him up, his thrusts get shorter and sharper and your nook is well heated and it's like your blood's a few shades too warm. You reach for a horn and the indigo blood and genetic material smears up against the orange and Kankri makes a long groan that says he'd like more and you press and milk from base to tip with two fingers and it makes his bulge shiver and you can feel him squeeze out some thick genetic material into your nook. You grab onto him tight and squeeze, your pulls are loose but only because his twists are violent and he knots himself up before fucking back into your slut hole. Sometimes he can say the damnedest things, really when you've turned off his mental filter it's the best and he's fucking in and each time makes a splurt of indigo and runny red spill out, he says your his high blood slut and you love him for it, run your fingers over his horn and he butts his head against you. His breath is heavy and hot and so is yours and you squeeze him tightly when you feel him turn to heavy, deep rutting fucks into you.

And then he's there and pouring a thick long sluice of red genetic material into your nook. He asks if you like being a bucket for him, if you like keeping in everyone's genetic material. Kankri wants to hurt you and there's moons on your sides from where his sparse nails have dug in and you know that there will be bruises on both of you for what you've done. He knots his bulge and wrings out the red and you can feel your nook fulled up and abused with how much he's been doing that, your bigger than him but the masses he curls up into make you sore and you love him for it. The tangy smell of blood and genetic material are stuck in your nose and when he gives a particularly violent press into you it makes you writhe and tense until your legs are crushing him against you and this hug is wrong in so many ways.


End file.
